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A Gambit

[CW: threats, blood, knife violence, captivity]

(Hero POV)

There was a knife at my throat, which was pretty expected honestly.

I mean, I didn’t exactly expect to sneak into public enemy number one’s private base and be greeted with warm milk and cookies. Sure, being held at knifepoint wasn’t ideal, but stakes were high enough that I was running out of options.

This was a risk I was willing to take.

I slowly raised my open hands. Surrender: the logical course of action when one is caught effectively off guard deep in unfamiliar territory.

“Don’t move and I might consider letting you live another second,” was whispered harshly in my ear, and I heeded the command disguised as a suggestion. The slow and controlled rise and fall of my chest was the only movement I allowed my body to make as my captor grabbed a hold of one lifted hand and pulled it behind my back, my arm folding painfully to provide the physical leverage the knife against my neck could not. Undoubtedly uncomfortable, but I tried not to worry about anything more than my main objective: staying alive.

“Grab your weapon slowly. Drop it. Kick it out of reach,” he ordered concisely.

I obediently unclipped the large knife sheathed on my belt, then dropped it to the floor and kicked it away.

Apparently, the distance the knife skittered was not satisfactory because I was subsequently yanked backwards a few more feet until we stopped and my shoulders were once again flush with the collarbones of the chest behind me.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t slit your throat right now. Tell me what you’re doing here,” I was questioned, and thus the careful game begun.

It was much too early to show all my cards, but I had to say something. While it was a decently good sign that I wasn’t killed the second I was discovered, I certainly wasn’t going to push my luck by not providing an answer.

“I need something. You have it,” I answered simply, forcing the words out as strongly as I could and hoping to buy myself a ticket to a second location with a less immediate threat of death.

The hallway in which we currently stood seemed to be closing in on its self, the shadows threatening to swallow me the second the knife would pierce my skin and end my life. I needed to get out of here.

I needed to survive.

I didn’t lie per se, but I was certainly aiming for a misleading omission with my statements. I felt like a shady salesman pitching a hook, except this salesman’s life depending on this customer’s purchase.

“Yeah? And what might that be?” The voice sounded deceptively interested, but it came from dangerously close to my ear.

And that was my cue to shut up.

“Ok. We can do it this way.”

My knees were kicked out from behind, and I went slamming into the floor. My tongue caught between my teeth on the way down, and metallic blood soon found its way across my taste buds. Hands ran across my clothes and into my pockets, methodically stripping me of my tools and supplies. My boots were removed and their knives tossed across the room. Pressure on my shoulder kept me down, but on a positive note, there was no longer a blade biting against my skin.

I focused on the iron taste and taking steady and clear breaths as the man above me worked. A renewed grip locked both arms behind my back and I was hauled onto my feet again. An aggressive push had me starting to walk, my sock-clad feet padding against and periodically tripping on the concrete toward a door settled into the far wall.

I was harshly marched down two more halls and through a smaller room, becoming more and more disconcerted that my captor wasn’t bothering to hide the layout of the base as we walked.

We eventually reached a room that was clearly equipped to handle prisoners. It was stocked with tools and restraints, which my captor made quick work of using to secure me. The room accomplished the intimidating vibe of a concrete box with bright-in-one-spot-but-dark-in-all-others fluorescent lighting, complete with chains along the wall and a metal chair bolted to the floor in the center.

Once I was settled into the aforementioned chair, I realized it faced away from the only door in the room, leaving a view of only a blood spattered wall.

This was certainly a second location. Mission accomplished, sort of.

I still did not speak, what was there to say, really? Begging for my freedom would be pointless, and I refused to show unnecessary weakness of any kind. I was here for a reason after all, I could only hope prayer and patience would be enough to get me through this ordeal.

My captor paced at my back, his footfalls loud as he allowed his shoes to scuff roughly on the concrete floor. They came to a stop.

“Let’s get to know each other, shall we?” He stepped in front of me and smiled wide, and suddenly I was considering the merits of spontaneously dropping dead right there in that chair.

“You see, I don’t take this kind of thing lightly,” he started, “How did you know to come here? Were you planning to steal what you needed, or is this some kind of delusional attempt at a business deal?” He continued, but my lips remained sealed, not that he could tell.

He seemed to realize this too, because he quickly ripped off every piece of clothing that covered my face, leaving it bare to be read and identified.

“Hero, how cute.”

Now he was interested.

His eyes traced the scar that ran from the corner of my nose up to my cheekbone. That’s what gave me away, he would know, because he’s the one who gave it to me. Not to suggest that us crossing paths was a regular occurrence, quite the opposite in fact. I had pledged to avoid the man after our unfortunate encounter, and it helped that I wasn’t much of a front-line fighter to begin with. I preferred sidelines and shadows, subtle work. And I rarely interfered in the big leagues. I was content to not make any powerful enemies, but unfortunately, circumstances change.

“You’re not getting what you came for,” Maybe I am, “so what’s the harm in giving it up?” He asked sweetly, nothing but innocence in his eyes as he stepped closer.

“Don’t think I’ll be asking nicely again,”he followed, and that- that possessive twinkle in his eyes. That was what I was banking on. This was going to work.

He circled me like a shark, slow and deliberate, but never reaching to fill his hands with a tool or a weapon. His relaxed demeanor put me on edge nonetheless. He had nothing to worry about. Capturing me was all business, now this was all play.

Silence continued to be my preferred strategy.

“Still quiet huh? Don’t worry, I’m really good at the quiet game,” he whispered the last part from behind me eerily, before walking away and shutting the door with a loud metal slam and leaving me alone. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea, but it was a little late for second thoughts.

By the time he returned, I had already begun to preemptively associate the sound of the door and heavy footsteps with the sound of my doom. He appeared in front of me much too soon, empty handed with a justifiable air of confidence.

My heart started to race when Villain strutted over to a roll of plastic propped against the wall to my left. Slowly, he kicked it over to the center of the room where I sat in the chair, and then knelt to the ground to roll it out around me. He produced a knife I didn’t know he had been carrying, different from the one that had been held at my throat, previously concealed somewhere in the black cargo pants that covered over the ankle of his black combat boots. He sliced the plastic laid around me into a square perimeter about six feet on each side.

My mind screamed that I needed to change tactics, admit something or be admitted to an early grave. But revealing that I intended to use the most powerful man in the game was not going to work in my favor. What choice did I really have though, be a toy or admit to toying?

Villain stood now. He gave me little more than a glance before starting to walk past me on my left side, presumably towards the door again or maybe other equipment. Unfortunately that guess did not take into account his lighting-like speed.

He turned, and before I knew it a knife was stabbed straight through my hand. I blinked in disbelief at the metal jutting an inch and a half out the palm of my hand, blood starting to well up around it and drip down to the tip of the blade before falling to hit the plastic.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t better. Maybe this was as certain a death as I was already guaranteed.

Too late to turn back now.

The pain took about a full three seconds to register. I was unprepared for the strike, quick as a viper sinking its teeth into its prey. I choked on my shock, mouth opening but no sound coming out.

Millan seized the opportunity, shoving a ball of fabric into my gaping mouth with forceful fingers.

“You don’t wanna talk? Don’t talk. I prefer it this way anyway,” he spoke, and my mistake became crystal clear.

Salvage. Games. He wants to play games.

His hand returned to the knife he had left skewered through my hand. His fingers wrapped around the hilt and my thoughts ran a thousand miles per minute, searching for something, anything, I could use as an opening move.

I was invited to the table, now I just had to figure out how to play.

The blade slipped easily back out of my flesh. It had missed bone, angled perfectly in the direction of my fingers.

I had to act now, before that blade found a new home in which to bury itself, presumably in a much more damaging location.

I coughed and spit to try and loosen the scrap in my mouth as I attempted to push it out with my tongue. I was making progress, but a hand was heading for my face again to try and re-secure the gag. Running out of time, I forced precious few syllables past the fabric that crudely hindered my speech.

“Ah-so-shee-a-shun.”

The hand reached its destination, but surprisingly opted to remove the obstacle from my mouth and toss it in a soggy heap to the floor.

“What was that?”

“The Association. I know something.”

I made a sour face in an attempt to resalivate my mouth and rid it of the awful cottony feel and taste.

“I have something on The Hero Association.”

“Hero, you do not waste a breath. I knew there was something I liked about you.” That creepy smiled returned, coupled with the glint in the eyes as the knife was wiped off on the knee of his pants. He crouched to a squat in front of me.

“I don’t suppose you’re in a particularly generous and sharing mood?” He cocked his head, studying my face as if seeing it for the first time.

“In your dreams. Sharing is caring, and I could not give less of a fuck about you.” I watched his face as he reacted to my words and knew by the way he lit up that I had picked the right path.

Never doubted it for a second.

“So why bring it up?”

“Figured it might save me a stab wound or two.”

“Or three or four,” he conceded, and I allowed a small smile to stretch my lips.

“Probably five.” He smiled back. “At least.”

The air in the room was lighter, and this exchange was seeming more and more like a tentative opportunity and less and less like certain doom. Blood still dripped from my hand, but I didn’t spare it another glance. I relaxed in my binds, and prepared for my next move.

A Gambit

[CW: threats, blood, knife violence, captivity]

(Hero POV)

There was a knife at my throat, which was pretty expected honestly.

I mean, I didn’t exactly expect to sneak into public enemy number one’s private base and be greeted with warm milk and cookies. Sure, being held at knifepoint wasn’t ideal, but stakes were high enough that I was running out of options.

This was a risk I was willing to take.

I slowly raised my open hands. Surrender: the logical course of action when one is caught effectively off guard deep in unfamiliar territory.

“Don’t move and I might consider letting you live another second,” was whispered harshly in my ear, and I heeded the command disguised as a suggestion. The slow and controlled rise and fall of my chest was the only movement I allowed my body to make as my captor grabbed a hold of one lifted hand and pulled it behind my back, my arm folding painfully to provide the physical leverage the knife against my neck could not. Undoubtedly uncomfortable, but I tried not to worry about anything more than my main objective: staying alive.

“Grab your weapon slowly. Drop it. Kick it out of reach,” he ordered concisely.

I obediently unclipped the large knife sheathed on my belt, then dropped it to the floor and kicked it away.

Apparently, the distance the knife skittered was not satisfactory because I was subsequently yanked backwards a few more feet until we stopped and my shoulders were once again flush with the collarbones of the chest behind me.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t slit your throat right now. Tell me what you’re doing here,” I was questioned, and thus the careful game begun.

It was much too early to show all my cards, but I had to say something. While it was a decently good sign that I wasn’t killed the second I was discovered, I certainly wasn’t going to push my luck by not providing an answer.

“I need something. You have it,” I answered simply, forcing the words out as strongly as I could and hoping to buy myself a ticket to a second location with a less immediate threat of death.

The hallway in which we currently stood seemed to be closing in on its self, the shadows threatening to swallow me the second the knife would pierce my skin and end my life. I needed to get out of here.

I needed to survive.

I didn’t lie per se, but I was certainly aiming for a misleading omission with my statements. I felt like a shady salesman pitching a hook, except this salesman’s life depending on this customer’s purchase.

“Yeah? And what might that be?” The voice sounded deceptively interested, but it came from dangerously close to my ear.

And that was my cue to shut up.

“Ok. We can do it this way.”

My knees were kicked out from behind, and I went slamming into the floor. My tongue caught between my teeth on the way down, and metallic blood soon found its way across my taste buds. Hands ran across my clothes and into my pockets, methodically stripping me of my tools and supplies. My boots were removed and their knives tossed across the room. Pressure on my shoulder kept me down, but on a positive note, there was no longer a blade biting against my skin.

I focused on the iron taste and taking steady and clear breaths as the man above me worked. A renewed grip locked both arms behind my back and I was hauled onto my feet again. An aggressive push had me starting to walk, my sock-clad feet padding against and periodically tripping on the concrete toward a door settled into the far wall.

I was harshly marched down two more halls and through a smaller room, becoming more and more disconcerted that my captor wasn’t bothering to hide the layout of the base as we walked.

We eventually reached a room that was clearly equipped to handle prisoners. It was stocked with tools and restraints, which my captor made quick work of using to secure me. The room accomplished the intimidating vibe of a concrete box with bright-in-one-spot-but-dark-in-all-others fluorescent lighting, complete with chains along the wall and a metal chair bolted to the floor in the center.

Once I was settled into the aforementioned chair, I realized it faced away from the only door in the room, leaving a view of only a blood spattered wall.

This was certainly a second location. Mission accomplished, sort of.

I still did not speak, what was there to say, really? Begging for my freedom would be pointless, and I refused to show unnecessary weakness of any kind. I was here for a reason after all, I could only hope prayer and patience would be enough to get me through this ordeal.

My captor paced at my back, his footfalls loud as he allowed his shoes to scuff roughly on the concrete floor. They came to a stop.

“Let’s get to know each other, shall we?” He stepped in front of me and smiled wide, and suddenly I was considering the merits of spontaneously dropping dead right there in that chair.

“You see, I don’t take this kind of thing lightly,” he started, “How did you know to come here? Were you planning to steal what you needed, or is this some kind of delusional attempt at a business deal?” He continued, but my lips remained sealed, not that he could tell.

He seemed to realize this too, because he quickly ripped off every piece of clothing that covered my face, leaving it bare to be read and identified.

“Hero, how cute.”

Now he was interested.

His eyes traced the scar that ran from the corner of my nose up to my cheekbone. That’s what gave me away, he would know, because he’s the one who gave it to me. Not to suggest that us crossing paths was a regular occurrence, quite the opposite in fact. I had pledged to avoid the man after our unfortunate encounter, and it helped that I wasn’t much of a front-line fighter to begin with. I preferred sidelines and shadows, subtle work. And I rarely interfered in the big leagues. I was content to not make any powerful enemies, but unfortunately, circumstances change.

“You’re not getting what you came for,” Maybe I am, “so what’s the harm in giving it up?” He asked sweetly, nothing but innocence in his eyes as he stepped closer.

“Don’t think I’ll be asking nicely again,”he followed, and that- that possessive twinkle in his eyes. That was what I was banking on. This was going to work.

He circled me like a shark, slow and deliberate, but never reaching to fill his hands with a tool or a weapon. His relaxed demeanor put me on edge nonetheless. He had nothing to worry about. Capturing me was all business, now this was all play.

Silence continued to be my preferred strategy.

“Still quiet huh? Don’t worry, I’m really good at the quiet game,” he whispered the last part from behind me eerily, before walking away and shutting the door with a loud metal slam and leaving me alone. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea, but it was a little late for second thoughts.

By the time he returned, I had already begun to preemptively associate the sound of the door and heavy footsteps with the sound of my doom. He appeared in front of me much too soon, empty handed with a justifiable air of confidence.

My heart started to race when Villain strutted over to a roll of plastic propped against the wall to my left. Slowly, he kicked it over to the center of the room where I sat in the chair, and then knelt to the ground to roll it out around me. He produced a knife I didn’t know he had been carrying, different from the one that had been held at my throat, previously concealed somewhere in the black cargo pants that covered over the ankle of his black combat boots. He sliced the plastic laid around me into a square perimeter about six feet on each side.

My mind screamed that I needed to change tactics, admit something or be admitted to an early grave. But revealing that I intended to use the most powerful man in the game was not going to work in my favor. What choice did I really have though, be a toy or admit to toying?

Villain stood now. He gave me little more than a glance before starting to walk past me on my left side, presumably towards the door again or maybe other equipment. Unfortunately that guess did not take into account his lighting-like speed.

He turned, and before I knew it a knife was stabbed straight through my hand. I blinked in disbelief at the metal jutting an inch and a half out the palm of my hand, blood starting to well up around it and drip down to the tip of the blade before falling to hit the plastic.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t better. Maybe this was as certain a death as I was already guaranteed.

Too late to turn back now.

The pain took about a full three seconds to register. I was unprepared for the strike, quick as a viper sinking its teeth into its prey. I choked on my shock, mouth opening but no sound coming out.

Millan seized the opportunity, shoving a ball of fabric into my gaping mouth with forceful fingers.

“You don’t wanna talk? Don’t talk. I prefer it this way anyway,” he spoke, and my mistake became crystal clear.

Salvage. Games. He wants to play games.

His hand returned to the knife he had left skewered through my hand. His fingers wrapped around the hilt and my thoughts ran a thousand miles per minute, searching for something, anything, I could use as an opening move.

I was invited to the table, now I just had to figure out how to play.

The blade slipped easily back out of my flesh. It had missed bone, angled perfectly in the direction of my fingers.

I had to act now, before that blade found a new home in which to bury itself, presumably in a much more damaging location.

I coughed and spit to try and loosen the scrap in my mouth as I attempted to push it out with my tongue. I was making progress, but a hand was heading for my face again to try and re-secure the gag. Running out of time, I forced precious few syllables past the fabric that crudely hindered my speech.

“Ah-so-shee-a-shun.”

The hand reached its destination, but surprisingly opted to remove the obstacle from my mouth and toss it in a soggy heap to the floor.

“What was that?”

“The Association. I know something.”

I made a sour face in an attempt to resalivate my mouth and rid it of the awful cottony feel and taste.

“I have something on The Hero Association.”

“Hero, you do not waste a breath. I knew there was something I liked about you.” That creepy smiled returned, coupled with the glint in the eyes as the knife was wiped off on the knee of his pants. He crouched to a squat in front of me.

“I don’t suppose you’re in a particularly generous and sharing mood?” He cocked his head, studying my face as if seeing it for the first time.

“In your dreams. Sharing is caring, and I could not give less of a fuck about you.” I watched his face as he reacted to my words and knew by the way he lit up that I had picked the right path.

Never doubted it for a second.

“So why bring it up?”

“Figured it might save me a stab wound or two.”

“Or three or four,” he conceded, and I allowed a small smile to stretch my lips.

“Probably five.” He smiled back. “At least.”

The air in the room was lighter, and this exchange was seeming more and more like a tentative opportunity and less and less like certain doom. Blood still dripped from my hand, but I didn’t spare it another glance. I relaxed in my binds, and prepared for my next move.